


Enough

by UAgirl



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Adult Content, Adult Language, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Baby Fic, F/F, F/M, Family, Humor, I could go on all day with these--hahaha, Post Season 3/Early Season 4, Sexual Situations, sweet smut, touch of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 18:40:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11880477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UAgirl/pseuds/UAgirl
Summary: What if Merle's ambush of the Governor had worked and he killed him?  With Michonne's help?  How would that have changed life at the Prison and the Woodbury community?Andrea lives and things get even more complicated.  Milton pines.  Merle takes the grudging respect he's earned and ingratiates himself within the Prison community.  And Carol and Daryl?  They're growing into feelings that have been there all along.“Just want you, Sweetheart.  Anything else, well.  Don’t need it.  It’s a fucked up world we livin’ in.  Got enough right here."





	Enough

**Enough**

* * *

**xxx**

* * *

 

“Better have a good reason for wakin’ me up at the ass-crack of dawn,” Daryl muttered tiredly, not even bothering to crack an eye open when he heard the heavy fall of boots pause just outside of his cell.  He was bone tired, drug down and weary, and he hadn’t even bothered to shuck his vest when he’d stumbled up the stairs the night before.  He’d just let his crossbow slide from his battered shoulder and collapsed face first into the pitiful excuse for a mattress, not even caring in the slightest that the stench of pig shit still clung stubbornly to the threadbare rags he called clothes.  He fucking hated pigs, the distant promise of bacon or not, and he and Rick were overdue a little talk.  It wasn’t the former cop’s shadow darkening his door, though.  The man’s sanity might have taken a lasting hit with the loss of his wife, but even he had enough sense not to disturb Daryl’s hard-earned rest unless it was an emergency, and they hadn’t had all that many of those since that one-eyed Woodbury bastard’s bloody demise.  No.   There were two people left in this sideways world brave enough to risk threatened dismemberment when he was this dead beat and ornery, and he was reasonably sure it wasn’t Carol—there’d been more than one reason she’d earned the nickname _Mouse_ from his brother.  His dumbass, horn dog, dick of a brother who chose that moment to rattle his blade across the bars of Daryl’s cell and whistle at him through his crooked, nicotine-stained teeth, ending his chances of drifting back to any semblance of sleep.  “Dammit, Merle.  I’m tellin’ ya…”

 

“Rise and shine, Baby Brother,” Merle cut him off.  “Someone’s at the door.” 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Whatsa matter, Miltie?” Merle asked as he pulled up a chair and straddled it, peering into the other man’s ashen, sweaty face while running the tip of his blade beneath his frayed sleeve.  “Thought you had lots of experience with this sort of thing, bein’ a scientist and all.  Hell.  Didn’t they used to be a show on that Discovery Channel ‘bout birthin’ babies?  Didn’t look all that complicated to me.” 

 

“Cut it out, Merle,” Daryl warned with a scowl, his steps still a little sluggish as he paced the perimeter of the reclaimed Prison library.  He’d hoped the quiet solitude of the place and its relative distance from the infirmary where Maggie and Carol had hurriedly ushered Andrea would calm the man’s obvious nerves, but in the usual manner of things, his brother had butted in where he wasn’t invited, and well.  Mamet looked like he was up to his ass in alligators.  Or maybe facing execution at the clawing hands and snapping jaws of a hungry army of dead fucks.  Neither proposition was appealing and Daryl went against his natural inclination.  “Know she’ll be alright, right?  S’got Maggie and Carol.  Hershel and Bob with her.”  

 

The pale man snapped out of his worried stupor long enough to frown.  “Who’s Bob?” 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Beth sought them out mid-afternoon, Judith bouncing in her skinny arms.  Her blue eyes were earnest when she updated them on how Andrea was doing.  “Daddy says she’s in the final stages of it now.  Shouldn’t be too much longer ‘til the baby’s here.” 

 

An obnoxious, shit-eating grin stretched Merle’s blunt features wide and he slapped both hands against the table in front of him.  “Hear that, Bill Nye?” 

 

Mamet merely nodded and took a deep breath. 

 

He looked less like a concerned friend and confidante in that moment and even more like a scared-shitless expectant daddy-to-be, and Daryl suppressed a groan because he was observant and he weren’t no fool, having spent the last several months growing into a friendship with Michonne.  In this new world, labels didn’t mean shit—not that he figured ‘Chonne had come up with one that reflected all that their ball-bustin’ former companion meant to her.  And that was _before_ Andrea fucked around with that sociopathic sonuvabitch and thrown her for a loop, created a rift between them that they still hadn’t breached completely.  “S’good,” he finally said, pulling a hand down over his face.  His nostrils flared and he grimaced, remembering belatedly to thank the shy teen for her shared news.  “Appreciate it, Beth.”

 

“Welcome,” she smiled, hitching Judith higher on her hip and turning heel.  “And Daryl,” she called, her blond ponytail bobbing as she peeked back around the door.  “Zach said he’d cover your watch shift.  Said he don’t mind at all.” 

 

Daryl nodded.  “Owe him one.” 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Bored with blowing smoke up Mamet’s ass, Merle had finally wandered off and left the two of them alone. Probably he was going to pester some of the kids that’d joined their growing ranks in the last several months.  Hopefully, he was going to steer well enough away from Glenn, tentative truce or not since his and Michonne’s impulsive but ultimately successful ambush of the Governor.

 

On the one hand, Daryl was relieved.  But on the other, he weren’t much for conversation, least not anymore and not with virtual strangers.  Former association with the Governor aside, though, the scientist seemed like decent people, and Daryl supposed he should make the effort.  “Why?” 

 

Mamet appeared taken aback by the simple question, his only immediate response a frown. 

 

“Why come here?” Daryl elaborated.  “Had a nurse in Woodbury.  A real doctor even.” 

 

“She needed her family,” the man answered simply.  “It’s been difficult for her.  The pregnancy.  Assuming the mantle of leadership.  She needed her family and who am I to deny her that?” 

 

Daryl took a moment to digest the given information and stood back up, his fingers fidgeting for a cigarette that wasn’t there.  “You’re a good friend.” 

 

“Yeah,” Mamet sighed in resignation, standing up and starting to pace himself.  “A good friend.”  A few trips up and down the library’s aisles and he stopped dead in his tracks, his brow furrowed with concern.  “Shouldn’t we have heard something by now?” 

 

 “How’s ‘bout we go find out for ourselves?” Daryl offered. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Andrea’s son was born with the setting of the sun.  He was loud and had a lot to say about the matter and damn near everybody behind the Prison’s walls knew about it, too. 

 

“Kid’s got Blondie’s mouth,” Merle drawled, not without a little bit of fondness.  Producing a flask from his pocket, he held it out to the man sitting across from him.  “Careful,” he warned.  “Want to drink it down fast.  Stuff there’ll singe the hair off a wild boar’s balls.” 

 

Mamet gulped it down fast, coughing and sputtering right on cue and looking a little green. 

 

“The hell, Merle.  Man ain’t eat a bite all day,” Daryl barked, confiscating the flask from the overwhelmed man’s hands before he could down another shot of the stuff.  Taking an experimental sniff, he swore.  “Fuck _is_ that?” 

 

“Home brew, Baby Brother.”  Merle grinned.  “Ole Merle’s secret recipe.  Mouse likes it.  Makes ‘er all giggly.” 

 

Daryl’s eyebrows disappeared in his shaggy hairline before he recovered his wits about him and the glare on his face was murderous as he growled out a single word in warning.  “Merle.”  Thankfully, reason intervened in the form of Maggie and he backed down, his anger deflated. 

 

“Mr. Mamet?  She’s asking for you.” 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Staring down at the red-faced newborn ‘Chonne held in the cradle of her arms, Daryl was hit with a revelation that wasn’t such a revelation at all:  DNA wasn’t worth a hill of beans.  Yeah, maybe if he squinted a little he could see the Governor’s chin and dark peach fuzz covered the kid’s funny shaped head.  But he snuggled all soft and innocent into the kisses gifted to him from the old man’s girls and he held on tight to Carl’s little finger, and _shit_.  This family of choice and circumstance was going to be the difference.  Of course, his brother chose that moment to interject his own two cents. 

 

“Hate to break it to you, Sugar Tits,” Merle announced loudly from where he lurked in the open doorway, “but he don’t look nothin’ like the Nubian Queen.” 

 

‘Chonne just rolled her eyes but Andrea did something surprising.  She laughed softly and invited him inside.  Looking over at the quiet man that stood by her side, she grabbed his hand and gave it a tired squeeze, teased, “What do you think, Milton?  Does he have your eyes?”

 

“No,” Milton pronounced seriously.  “He’s got yours.” 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The showers were deserted by the time Daryl finally made it to them, lit only by the high moon’s light.  Resting his bundle of clean clothes on a nearby bench, he stripped bare, peeling the layers of the last couple days away and stepping into the curtained stall.  Lukewarm water sputtered from the wide spout, but after all those long winter months on the road, it still felt like a luxury and he dipped his head beneath the stream, his shoulders sagging with the weight of the day.  He didn’t even open his eyes when he heard the soft pad of footsteps or felt her slender arms wrap around his waist from behind. 

 

“Mmm.”  Carol removed her lips from his damp shoulder to wrinkle her nose.  “You smell.” 

 

He grunted out a laugh and tugged her arms tight around him again, relishing the soft press of her breasts against his skin.  “Really?  No shit.” 

 

Lifting on tiptoe, she nipped playfully at the tendons in his neck in retaliation, her fingertips skating around his navel before dropping below his narrow waist.  She smirked when she held the silky steel length of him in her hand and he shuddered in response. 

 

A guttural groan tumbled from his open mouth as she started to work him over with slow, steady strokes, and he braced his weight against the shower stall, widening his stance unconsciously.  “Careful, Sweetheart.” 

 

“Hmm?” she murmured, swiping her thumb across the sensitive head of his cock and dropping one kiss, then two and a third to the base of his neck.

 

“Got a hair trigger tonight,” he warned as her slippery skin pressed even more firmly into his own. 

 

“Just tonight, Pookie?” she teased with another kiss, this one to the round of his shoulder. 

 

“Stop,” he grumbled.   

 

“If you really want me to,” she said and her grip loosened until he sighed and covered her hand with his own. 

 

“Gonna make it up to ya,” he vowed. 

 

Her lips tickling over his spine, she smiled.  “I’m counting on it.” 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Squeezed in tight together in her bunk, beneath the blankets and the cover of a midnight sky, between the cradle of her warm thighs, Daryl rose above her.  Over and over, he surged forward and pressed deep, deeper and deeper until her blue eyes melted into black and fire licked at the freckles on her collarbone. 

 

Carol’s mouth parted on silent moan after silent moan, mindful of the sleepy murmurs of night and the Prison all around them.  Her nails scored his back and her heels dug into the clenched muscles of his ass.  She couldn’t help but let out a whimper when he dropped his forehead to her own briefly before finding her throat and sucking the tender skin into his mouth.  She shuddered when his whisper reached her ear.  

 

“Gonna have to be quiet, Sweetheart.”  He nipped at her chin with his teeth before swallowing her soft cries with his kiss, just as slow and sweet and intent as his thrusts were, and when she started to whine and sweep her restless hands through his damp hair, he gathered her close and sat up, loving the way she felt in his lap.  She was wet and warm and a little bit wild from how worked up he’d gotten her, her hips rolling restlessly and her hard little nipples dragging across his chest with every movement. 

 

“Can’t.”  Her breath caught and released in a helpless gasp as he pushed up into her, one hand bracing himself against her thin mattress and the other gliding low over the small of her sweaty back.  “Daryl, I can’t.” 

 

“Shh,” he murmured into her open mouth.  “You can.  Know you can.”  He nuzzled her brow, feathered his lips over the softness of her silver hair as he felt his own whine start to build in the back of his throat.  She was so tight, so goddamn tight, and _fuck_.  He saw the pinprick shine of stars as she squeezed around his dick and took him deeper, her legs starting to shake as her knees dug into the mattress.  A string of quiet, desperate curses tore from his throat.  “Tell me what you need, Woman.  Fuck, Carol.  Tell me.”  His hand slid over her ass, his thumb teasing briefly at the puckered skin between her cheeks, before she grabbed it in her own and guided it to that sweet spot between her legs and she was like a live wire in his arms when he slicked his fingers with her wetness and drug them deliberately across her little bud.  Then she was coming all around him in a flood of pulsating, milking warmth, her mouth pressed against the curve of his neck in a silent scream and her heart beating violently against his chest and he followed right behind her, collapsing to the mattress below when his arm wouldn’t support their weight any longer.  Gasping and panting for breath, he cupped her head in his shaky hand and pulled her into him for a sloppy, heartfelt kiss.  “Fuckin’ love ya.” 

 

When it was over, she looked down at him with glittering, tearful eyes, her pretty bruised mouth parted and ready to respond to him when a familiar voice tiredly but gleefully rang out in the night. 

 

“Daryl loves Carol!”  Then, a little quieter, “Not like we didn’t know that already, Man.” 

 

“Glenn,” Maggie could be heard hissing at her husband.  She followed up with an apology.  “Sorry.  He’s sorry, Carol.” 

 

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Brother.”

 

Rick’s voice held a note of wry embarrassment, and Daryl felt steam start to waft from his fiery cheeks.  Of course, Merle couldn’t resist joining the peanut gallery. 

 

“That’s _my_ fuckin’ Baby Brother,” he crowed proudly.  “Boy’s all Dixon.” 

 

“Not that I don’t think congratulations are in order,” Hershel’s wizened, molasses-drenched voice intoned, “but could we please keep in mind that there are children present?” 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

Carl sounded disgusted, and Carol hid her own burning cheeks in the juncture of his neck. 

 

“I’m so happy for you, Carol,” Beth sweetly conveyed her congratulations. 

 

Finally, exhausted and embarrassed beyond all measure, Daryl had had enough.  “For the love of…this ain’t the fuckin’ Waltons!”  Carol shook against him with helpless laughter that the others echoed, and he dragged lazy fingers across her tailbone in retaliation.  “Woman,” he warned.  He promptly hushed, though, when she lay two fingers across his scowling mouth and gazed down at him with blue eyes that were all soft and shiny. 

 

“I loved you first,” she smiled. 

 

“Pfft,” he scoffed.  “So sure ‘bout that?” 

 

“I know you.” 

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, Daryl watched her from the infirmary doorway as she finished pinning the baby’s diaper and scooped the little boy up, snuggling him close.  She peppered his pudgy pink cheeks with kisses as she hummed and swayed in place, and the sweet sight had his throat closing up and his heart beating a bruising rhythm against his ribs.  “Look good.  Holdin’ him.”  The words were out of his mouth before he could take them back, and he felt warmth creep up his neck when she whirled around to face him, a careful smile on her face. 

 

“Do you want to…”  She trailed off meaningfully, her feet carrying her to where he stood.  She didn’t give him time enough to answer her unasked question, just stepped in close, toe to toe with him until the newborn was a warm, sighing weight pressed between them. 

 

His arms curled around the little body of their own accord, and a pair of unfocused blue eyes blinked up at him before drifting shut again.  An unconscious smile tugged at his lips when the boy’s small rosebud mouth opened in a yawn, and he looked up when he felt her eyes on him.  “What?” 

 

Carol ducked her head and shook it, her fingers fiddling nervously with the fuzzy green socks that swallowed up the baby’s wiggling feet.  “Nothing.” 

 

Daryl knew better and his rough hand was gentle on her elbow, then on her wavering chin.  “Hey.  Know it’s something.”  Her protests were soft, but it didn’t take her long to open up about what was bothering her, and he kissed her hair when she wrapped her arms around him and Andrea’s infant son. 

 

“ _You_ look good.  Holding him.  I can’t help wondering…”  Changing track, she apologized to him in strangled whispers, her tears soaking into the worn fabric of his shirt.  “I’m sorry.  I just…I don’t know what’s come over me.  It’s just…” 

 

“He reminds you how much you miss ‘Phia,” Daryl finished for her. 

 

“That,” Carol admitted with a nod.  “It’s not just him.  It’s Judith, too.  Daryl, don’t you…”  Breaking off again, she forced the rest of her thoughts and fears to the surface.  “I want that for you.  A baby of your own.  And I don’t even know if I could…I don’t even know if I would want to after what happened.  But I want you to have the chance, if you want it.” 

 

“Just want you, Sweetheart.  Anything else, well.  Don’t need it.  It’s a fucked up world we livin’ in.  Got enough right here,” he told her.  It was the absolute truth.  Still.  Dropping another kiss to her hair, he leaned back and looked into her eyes.  “Be a lie to say I hate the idea, but you?  You’re all I need.  Love’s what makes a family.  Bein’ there.” 

 

“Daryl Dixon, you softie.” 

 

“Stop.” 

 

“You really think so?” 

 

“Know it.  Now what you say we get this little man back to his mama?”  He transferred the little boy back into her arms and the corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. 

 

She paused in tucking the blanket around the baby’s tiny shoulders and narrowed her eyes.  “What?” 

 

“Nothin’,” he shrugged.  “Fine,” he relented when her gaze remained fixed.  “Don’t mean we can’t steal him sometimes.” 

 

Carol’s lips twitched with the makings of a smile of her own.  “He _is_ pretty cute, but I think you’re going to have to go through Michonne and Mr. Mamet first.”   

 

“’Chonne’s easy.  Milton, well.  Feel sorry for the poor bastard.” 

 

“Daryl!” 

 

“What?  _Do_.” 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is love. Just don't throw tomatoes. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!!!


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